


Phasma's Filling Feast

by emissaryofrainbows



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Belly Kink, Burping, Farting, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Gross, Other, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emissaryofrainbows/pseuds/emissaryofrainbows
Summary: Hey, look! I finally got a thematically appropriate story out in time for a holiday! Happy May the 4th everyone!This one’s about Captain Phasma. The Captain is obsessed with keeping herself in peak physical shape, but to do that, she needs a seriously huge intake of calories before she works out. Unfortunately, a pesky Resistance soldier enters Starkiller base, interrupting her meal. Phasma is forced to take on the intruder while she’s still stuffed. Maybe she could use her bloated, gassy state to her advantage?This story contains bellystuffing, female musclegut, gas, facesitting and fart torture. Enjoy!





	Phasma's Filling Feast

Phasma disproved of indulgence, so she had to remind herself that what she was doing wasn’t about simple gratification. That was difficult to do, while she was shoveling piles upon piles of food into her mouth.

Phasma was dedicated to keeping herself in peak physical condition. Her amazonian height may have been the result of genetics, but her musculature was entirely the result of her own hard work. Not a day would pass where she didn’t engage in some kind of grueling physical activity. She needed a massive caloric intake to exercise at the level she did, so each workout was preceded by a massive binge.

She would forbid anyone from entering the entire cafeteria wing of Starkiller base when she ate, as she didn’t want any of her soldiers to witness her shamefully glutting herself. Her glimmering armor and blaster laid at her feet, in case of emergency. As of now, no such situation had ever arrived.

The food on Starkiller base was particularly bad, almost entirely flavorless, but it was filling enough to do the job.

Since there was nobody around to see her, Phasma was free to wear comfortable clothes, at the expense of all modesty. She wore a black sports bra, and form-fitting elastic shorts with nothing underneath. Both were covered in food stains, as Phasma sloppily chowed down on tray after tray of mediocre First Order food.

Phasma was an enormous woman, with close-cropped blonde hair, standing at exactly two meters tall. She was impressively toned, powerful arms with bulging biceps, thick, muscular thighs, a midsection with a robust set of rock-hard abs. Her aforementioned stomach was noticeably bloated now, but her abdominal muscles still remained over the slightly curved surface.

She placed a hand to her gut. It was taut, stretched tight from the food within it, which was enough to feed three full-grown soldiers in their prime. To Phasma, it was just the beginning, a mere appetizer.

Her stomach had accommodated itself to being stretched out over time, so as crammed as it felt now, Phasma still had plenty of room to fill.

She took a long drink from the bottle of water she had kept nearby, washing down the bland food. Then, she resumed eating. She shoved handful after handful into her mouth, her rude, repulsive chewing echoing through the empty dining room. Normally, Phasma was insistent on order and formality, but in this particular situation, manners would only slow her down. She had no time for decorum, she was barely halfway done with her meal.

Phasma’s stomach had swollen significantly, rounding out to a burgeoning spheroid, the outline of her abs stretched across the increased surface area. The space in her stomach that wasn’t occupied by food was taken up by gas, gas that was desperate to escape from its container. Phasma needed all the room she could get, so she was more than happy to let it free.

GrrRRrrrrUUUuuuuurrrrpPPPPP

Phasma placed her hand over her mouth, just barely in time to stifle her loud, growling belch. That helped relieve a bit of pressure, so she no longer felt like she was at risk of exploding. She rested one hand against her spherical musclegut, using the other to fan away the smell of her belch, before dedicating both to cramming as much food in her mouth as she could.  
Phasma’s stomach continued to expand, until it pressed up against the edge of the table, forcing her to sit back, to provide her belly more room to grow. Somehow, it was still noticeably muscular. Her gut churned away at the food inside of it like a trash compactor, producing even more gas for Phasma to release.

The gas came from both ends. Her farts were especially rancid, slipping out from between her muscular cheeks with a dry, loud FrrrrrTTTTrrrrrTttttt. Her flatulence didn’t require her to stop eating, so she multi-tasked, casually ripping a stream of hot, raunchy farts while still feeding herself at the same time.

Her belches were another story, unfortunately. They required her to pause between gulps, so she could force out a hot, rumbling blast of gut gas, before resuming where she left off. Letting out her gas would cause her belly, and the taught, stretched feeling it produced to diminish slightly, but the subsequent handfuls of food she would shove down her throat would more than make up for it.

Phasma sighed, resting a hand against her strained musclegut. The stiff orb gurgled and glorped noisily, as Phasma’s powerful stomach got to work on digesting the tremendous amount of food she’d deposited into it.

She was done eating, but her gas hadn’t subsided. She let out a thunderous belch, a fart, or both, every few seconds.

Now all she needed to do was wait for her body to absorb the nutrients. Then, she could begin her grueling workout routine, so she could retain her status as the strongest warrior of the First Order. Her post-binge digestion was one of the few times she got to relax, and she always savored the opportunity. She could just wait back, bloated and gassy, waiting for her body to do its job.

Her moment of peace was interrupted by a voice coming through under her communicator.

“Captain, the system is reporting an intruder in Starkiller base. They’re in the locked-down region of the base, and we don’t have enough time to unlock it without them escaping. You’ll have to deal with them yourself.”

“I’ll do it,” Phasma said, desperately trying to hold in her gas as she closed the communication line. A pent-up belch and fart escaped from her simultaneously as she shut off her comms.

She rose from her feet, a difficult task in itself, with her belly jutting out in front of her.

She eyed her chrome-plated armor. She never went into battle without it, but it was designed specifically to fit her normal physique. There was no chance of it fitting it in her current state…or perhaps there was.

Phasma’s midsection was the only part of her that’d grown. She put on her boots, her greaves, her gauntlets, her helmet, her breastplate, and lastly, her cape, with her blaster held firmly in her hands. As she expected, the armor pieces all fit, except for the plate designed to cover the lower part of her abdomen, which she didn’t even attempt to wear. She simply put on everything else, covering every part of her body in blaster-resistant chrome, except for her sloshing, distended gut, which was totally exposed. She imagined that she looked fairly ridiculous, but that didn’t matter. The intruder would be the only witness to her current appearance, and they wouldn’t survive to tell about it.

Merely walking with her stomach in this state was difficult; it spread her legs apart slightly, forcing her into a humiliating waddle.

The system couldn’t identify the specific location of the intruder, only the region of the base they’d entered. Fortunately, the locked-off part was relatively small, consisting only of the open cafeteria, where the intruder definitely wasn’t hiding, and several short hallways leading away from it. Phasma would simply need to check them one-by-one.

The first two hallways were empty. It always took a while for digestion to set in, and so far Phasma’s gut hadn’t softened in the slightest. The turgid orb was still churning away, letting out watery GLORPS and GrrrPPss with every step she took.

Phasma continued her patrol, blaster held tightly to her chest. She was running out of hallways, she’d find that intruder eventually.

The Resistance infiltrator noticed Phasma before she noticed her. Phasma’s enormous belly barely registered in her mind, she was thrown into immediate panic by the mere sight of the Stormtrooper captain.

She regained her composure, and took a small, disc-shaped device. She pressed a button on its center, and tossed it in Phasma’s direction. Just as Phasma turned to see the thin, dark-haired woman in Resistance clothes hiding in the corner, the device went off. The hallway was filled with arcs of electricity, frying Phasma’s blaster and rendering it useless.

Phasma huffed, dropping her rifle to the ground. She wouldn’t need it. The infiltrator had no firearms s of her own. She was clearly outfitted for recon, not combat, and Phasma could defeat her effortlessly in a physical fight.

At least, she could at any other time. Now, she had her doubts. She’d never fought in this swollen state before.

She reassured herself. Even with her stomach in the way, she was still leagues above any other fighter in hand-to-hand combat.

The Resistance fighter now took notice of Phasma’s unusually large stomach. She was utterly confused by it, and the fact that Phasma was in full armor otherwise. The reports from her fellow spies hadn’t mentioned anything like this, but it was an irrelevant detail at best. She still needed to escape, that was her main priority.

She darted towards the vent she’d entered through, but Phasma was faster, charging towards her and blocking her exit.

Phasma towered over her opponent, her inexplicable churning gut making her even more intimidating, somehow.

“I can’t let you URP escape,” she said, releasing a belt into the interior of her helmet. She took off her helm, gasping, as it was airtight, and trapped her robust belch inside.

The infiltrator wasn’t sure how to react. She kept her initial goal in mind, and tried to push past the giantess, towards the vent.

“You’re not going UUUUUUUUURP anywhere,” she said, tackling the other woman, using her vastly superior body weight to force her to the ground.

The infiltrator was trapped underneath Phasma, with her gut pressed up against her face. She could feel the taut, turgid skin, the still-present muscles spread over it, the warmth and bassy gurgling sounds that radiated from the inside.

Phasma was immovable, the intruder couldn’t make her budge, despite how much she struggled. The pressure of the Resistant girl’s face against her stomach forced a belch from Phasma’s mouth.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP

A hot, wet burp was blasted directly into her face, making the intruder feel slightly dizzy. Phasma was disarmed, and she couldn’t kill the infiltrator anyways, since the First Order would want to keep her alive for interrogation. Still, she wanted her to suffer, and the most potent method of torment she had at her disposal was her gas.

She got up, with the intruder still temporarily immobilized by the last blast of gas. Phasma removed her leg armor, and then, her undergarments. She didn’t want a single barrier between her victim, and the stink she was about to unleash.

She planted her surprisingly large, toned ass cheeks onto the intruder’s face. She wiggled around a bit, until her asshole was perfectly aligned with her victim’s nose.

Then, she let loose. The First Order food may have been flavorless going in, but it had a powerful odor coming out. The intruder had to endure countless foul smells, scouting planets during her time with the Resistance, but this was by far the most potent stink she’d ever experienced.

Since there was no barrier between her nose and the source of the stink, she got to experience the stench of Phasma’s farts, undiluted. It was absolute rancid, mind-meltingly foul. Holding her breath did little to help. Phasma’s muscular ass forced her farts out with enough power that they shot straight into her nostrils without her inhaling.

FffrrrrrTTTffffFFFrrrrtTTT

Phasma continued pushing out her foul miasma onto her helpless victim. Her bloating was finally starting to go down, although she was still plenty swollen, and she had no shortage of gas to give.

“Enjoy, Resistance scum.” Her assault of foul gasses onto her prey’s face was unrelenting. The smell, and the lack of clean air to breath was making the girl dizzy.

A final, seconds-long *BRRrrrttttRrrtttTT* knocked her completely unconscious.

Phasma picked up her helmet, and spoke into the communicator. “I found the intruder. She’s unconscious in hallway 5D-77, and ready for interrogation.”

Phasma wasn’t going to deliver the intruder herself, not in her current state. The unfortunate Stormtrooper in charge of picking her up would simply have to deal with the lingering odor she’d left behind.

Phasma made her way back to the cafeteria, her stomach slightly softened, room freed up for more food. The encounter had left her hungry, so she returned to eat again.


End file.
